Before you say anything, I know. The phrase is two steps forward, one step back. But that’s just not the case. Not my case.
In my case, I feel like I’m progressing, albeit in the smallest ways possible, but progressing. I have fewer anxiety attacks at work. I lock myself in a room to cry a little less often. I am running for myself, to take care of myself. I miss Simon every day, every moment, and I’m working on how I can cope. And I’m taking tiny steps at doing so.
Until the clouds roll back in.
(Not these literal clouds. I wish it was these clouds. I can deal with these clouds.)
The clouds I thought I had taken baby steps to cope with are the clouds that turn my brain into a ball of anxiety and make what used to be simple tasks feel daunting. They are the clouds that make me wonder how I can ever truly smile again. They are the clouds that make me doubt myself as Nolan’s and Simon’s dad. The clouds are terrifying.
And at least right now they are back.
The scary thing, or one of the scary things about these clouds returning is that I don’t know where they came from. It might be the grief hangover from a holiday that I didn’t expect would be so hard. It may be from the amazing changes in Nolan and the utter pride I take in seeing how our little boy is learning and growing and the knowledge that our other little boy will always be stuck in a moment in time. It might just be because it’s Thursday.
The other scary part is, I don’t know when I’ll take those two tiny steps forward again. When these clouds roll in, it feels like they’ll be here forever. There is no end in sight. No “light at the end of the tunnel.” Only more tunnel.
For now I feel like I’m back at square one.
Two steps back and just missing Simon, and missing what our life, our family of four should look like.
Nolan woke up early…I’m talking early…this morning. I brought him into the bed with me and we chatted for a few minutes, then I was (somehow) able to get him to rest and close his eyes. We both fell asleep for another hour or so. If you know Nolan, you know this is unheard of.
We eventually got up and Nolan brought me the first of my Father’s Day presents. A super cute book called I Love Dad. Nolan had colored on it (and his belly) and is very proud of his artwork. We read it. One of us teared up. It was a wonderful start to Father’s Day.
After a nice morning hanging out at the cabin, playing outside and a walk up the road, we headed home.
When we got home, I got the next of my gifts. First, a really nice keychain with Nolan’s name and “Everyday. Everyday.” and Simon’s name with “Always & Always.” I cried a little more.
Then game the big gift.
My amazingly thoughtful wife had a picture drawn for me. The picture of me holding our little boy shortly after he came into the world. There is pain on my face, and an angelic, beautiful look on his. He looks so perfect. And it is a perfect drawing.
It is also a reminder on this first Father’s Day without Simon that I’ll never have the chance to cuddle with him in the morning, and I’ll never know if soothing him back to sleep would have been easier or harder than it is with his big brother. I’ll never get a beautifully scribbled work of art to cherish. I’ll never know anything about what he would have been.
It was two Father’s Days today.
A great one celebrating with a toddler who hugs my legs, and wanted me to come to him when he fell (to bring him milk, but that’s beside the point…). And one that hit me like a tidal wave, forcing me to paddle like hell to keep my head above water.
Saying goodbye to Simon is a loss I’ll never get over. It’s one I never want to get over. On a day like today, it’s a loss that hurts as much as the moments we heard those terrible words.